


Tongue Tied

by jitterbug



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, harry is louis' baby, supportive boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jitterbug/pseuds/jitterbug
Summary: Snippets of a life in which Harry is a medical student and Louis is an aspiring Broadway actor. They're young, dumb, broke & in love.





	Tongue Tied

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly inspired by my love for Grey's Anatomy.  
> Might be slightly inaccurate.  
> Honestly, this has been sitting in my drive for so long, I decided I might as well post it.  
> Hope you enjoy!!!

1.

It’s the first time Harry comes home in bloody scrubs underneath his coat, and if that weren’t enough of a warning, his wet droopy eyes and twisted lips would be.

Louis is out of the couch in an instant, soy noodles left behind to spill over their soggy takeout container. He’s kind of been expecting this for a while, ever since that dumb article (“ _How Best to Support Your Medical School Student Spouse_ ”) showed up in his inbox a couple months ago, scavenged from the internet by a then-weary Zayn. (In Zayn’s defense, Harry had not slept in over 35 hours. As a result, he’d been extremely grumpy, with only Louis around to channel his frustration on. After one of their worst fights, Zayn had received a phone call from a devastated Louis, whose sobs Zayn could only describe as the perfect mix between pathetic and pitiful. Somehow, past the muddle of feelings and confessions, it got down to Zayn doing his best to convince Louis it _wasn’t_ all his fault, that he _was not_ an incompetent boyfriend that didn’t know how to satisfy Harry’s needs, all the while Louis himself struggled to contain little sniffles and hiccups, clutching the phone like a lifeline. Two days later, after he and Harry had sufficiently made up, Louis had found the link in his email. Whether or not he printed it out and used three different highlighters on it is not relevant.)

Bottom line, he’s geared himself up for this; knows how sensitive Harry is, how hard it’ll be and how much support and comfort he’ll need. He doesn’t let himself think too much about how _tired_ Harry looks, or how his shoulders are hunched over like he’s carrying so much weight on them even shrugging would be painful.

Instead, he acts quickly. A chaste kiss to the cheek in greeting before he’s stripping the dirty scrubs away from Harry’s body and throwing them into the laundry basket in a dash, briefly scolding himself for not reminding his boyfriend to pack a change of clothes more often. He pushes Harry towards their bedroom, noting how easily Harry lets himself be handled, like he’s temporarily gone hollow.

By the tub, Louis gets the stream ready, fixing the temperature just right in the way he knows makes Harry purr. After getting rid of his clothes he guides Harry into the shower, joining not a second later.

For the most part, Harry is silent. He sniffs every once in a while, particularly when Louis isn’t scrubbing over his body or hair, and avoids eye contact.

Only when they’re cuddled up in bed, does he speak, so quietly.

“It was horrible, Lou. It was so awful.”

Louis, surprisingly enough, doesn’t blink, not even when he feels Harry’s tears on his neck from where his face is smushed against it. “I know, baby.” He rubs his hands up and down Harry’s back soothingly, working at the tense spots.

“I didn’t even have a change of clothes,” the younger boy sniffs.

Neither of them sleeps much that night. It’s a Thursday, which means only one more day before they get a rest, and Louis makes a silent promise to plan something fun for the weekend to get Harry’s mind off of work, get him back to his bubbly self. Maybe a movie night with the boys, a big cuddle-fest like the old times. He’ll convince (aka blackmail) them all into letting Harry pick the movie, and won’t even hide The Notebook.

 

 

3.

Louis was only going to stop by to drop off Harry’s forgotten lunch bag, but in the subway ride over to the hospital he notices said lunch was composed of the two most sad and pathetic looking potatoes maybe ever, and a tiny raw carrot. So he makes a detour, buys Harry a fresh, vegetable-y panini, a muffin and an iced tea and is back on his way.

Perrie is the first familiar face he comes across, and as soon as she sees him her eyes go impossibly bright. She looks like she’s seconds from bursting in sheer excitement.

“You’ve got to see this,” she squeaks out, taking his hand and rushing him through halls and past desks and waiting areas into a larger, very colorful wing, which he recognizes immediately as the children’s area.

Eventually, they reach Harry, who is sat on the smallest stool Louis’ ever seen, holding a ukelele (which he doesn’t actually know how to play--he’s just a firm believer in the _fake it till you make it_ philosophy) and singing as a dozen or so entranced kids watch, swaying side to side like the music has taken hold of their tiny bodies.

Louis recognizes the song, something old and very Harry-like.

“She's like a Rainbowwwww…. Coming, colors in the air! Oh, everywhere! She comes in cooooo-lors...”

Perrie watches Louis watch Harry adoringly, as he tries to get the kids to harmonize the “ooooh’s” to questionable degrees of success. Eventually, when it becomes clear Louis has no plans on leaving anytime soon, Perrie slips away back to work, a fond smile curving her rosy lips.

Harry only notices him after three more songs, when the nurses start bringing in the lunch trays. He puts the ukelele in a corner, stretches with a content smile on his face, and sees Louis.

“Heeeeeeey!” He says, rushing towards Louis and clinging to him, so happy.

Louis holds him extra tight, can’t help it, even when he feels the panini squish between their bodies. “What was that about?”

“We have singing sessions sometimes. They love it. Music heals, you know?”

“Seemed fun,” Louis comments, trying to bite back a stupid smile.

“You could join next time,” Harry suggests eagerly, pulling back to fix Louis with a hopeful smile. “I love your voice.”

“Oh, I know,” Louis replies cheekily. He suddenly remembers the lunch, and presses the brown bag into Harry’s stomach. “You forgot your lunch. Again. You big oaf.”

Harry grins, eyes twinkling. “Did you come all the way here just for this?” He swoons.

Louis says “I didn’t want you to starve, did I?” at the same time Harry notices the panini and nearly squeals in delight.

“A panini! And a raspberry muffin! And tea! Lou, you sap,” he teases.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Gonna eat, or what?”

“Can you join me?”

“For half an hour, sure. I was only going to drop this off, but since I’m here…”

“Yay!” Harry exclaims. “Let’s go. Have you had lunch, or d’you wanna go buy something? The cookies here aren’t bad.”

“Nah, I’m alright. Maybe I’ll have a taste of that muffin.”

They leave hand in hand. Harry leads them towards the nurse’s common room, where he’s become accustomed to spending most of his time. He likes the nurses; they aren’t hostile towards him like the rest of the interns, for whom everything appears to be a competition.

 

 

4.

Harry and Louis drive up to Doncaster for a long weekend. They were both in need of a break and Louis missed his mom, so they packed up a bag and off they went.

They had been there for an entire half hour, joking around in Louis’ bed, when Phoebe came running into their room in tears, a wailing, splotchy-faced Ernest in her arms.

“What happened?” Louis cries, pulling his limbs from Harry as he reaches out for the kids. Phoebe goes straight to Harry, however, and nearly thrusts Ernie at his lap.

“It was an accident! We were just playing and he fell over down the stairs!”

Ernie cries and cries, too young to really understand what’s going on, and before Louis can think about what to do, Harry’s taken the little baby in his arms, murmuring soft sweet words as he inspects him.

“Oh, Phoebe,” Louis sighs, watching Harry’s expert hands roam all over his baby brother’s legs and tummy and arms.

At that, Phoebe’s cries get louder, so Louis pulls her into his lap and holds her close.

Harry winces. “He’s bleeding a little, must’ve hit his head. Don’t worry, love, it wasn’t your fault, and you were so smart bringing him here,” he tells Phoebe, sparing her a soothing smile. Then, he faces Louis. “Do you know where your mom keeps the first aid kit?”

The first aid kit is one Harry himself provided the first summer they visited after he’d begun school. It was one of their first lessons, a brief explanation of what a proper first aid kit should contain. Just thinking about Harry diligently putting together what seemed like dozens of those little boxes makes Louis’ heart ache. He’d made one for everyone they knew, including a travel sized version Louis could keep in his backpack at all times. When they came home to Louis’ family, he’d brought a special one along, one with themed bandaids and extra gauze just in case.

“It’s in mummy’s drawer,” Phoebe whispers into Louis’ shirt. She’s stopped crying now, only letting out an occasional sniff.

“I’ll go get it, then. You stay here and help Harry with whatever he needs, okay?” Louis tells her, dropping her onto the bed before jogging off for the kit.

When he comes back, things look much more cheery. Ernest lays across the bed, an expression of utter relaxation on his face as Harry strokes his head. Phoebe, on the other hand, watches Harry with a curious expression from where her head is perched upon her elbow.

“Here you go,” says Louis, reaching out to stroke his sister’s forehead. Once Harry’s gotten to work with some antiseptic, he turns towards her, voice gentle. “Will you be more careful from now on? When you guys are playing?”

“I promise,” she nods solemnly, looking up at him with blue eyes so big Louis can’t help but huff out a laugh.

“You look like a little froggy,” he teases.

“Froggies unite!” Harry cheers, used to the comparison himself. His large hands work with greater diligence than Ernie’s little wound warrants, all the while murmuring soft, soothing sounds to keep the boy happy. And though Louis is well acquainted with the warmth that seeps into his chest and coils tightly round his heart at the sight, the feeling never fails to get him to swoon, properly, like in a Jane Austen novel.

He knows Harry’s seen it when, after bandaging the scratch, he turns towards him and meets his eyes. A smile blooms, filling his features with light, and he leans in for a sweet kiss on Louis’ cheek.

“I love your siblings,” he whispers into the skin there, before breaking into a smug grin.

 

 

5.

They’re in bed, watching television, when Harry remembers.

“They’re filming a reality show at the hospital!”

Louis, who’d in all honesty been counting down seconds to sleep, curled around Harry’s stomach, hums in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, it’s like a documentary about the urban health system. Can you believe it?”

Again, a hum.

“And they asked me to be in it.”

No hum this time. “What?” Louis snaps. He rises to his knees, has to quickly catch a hand near Harry’s sternum to keep his balance on the fluffy mattress. “Why the hell’d they do that?”

Harry, though not surprised at what might be a display of jealousy, delights in how squeaky Louis’ voice gets. “S’true, they want me to represent the interns. Isn’t that cool? You’ll get to see me on Bravo.”

“Bravo! What!” Louis sputters. He jumps off the mattress in favor of pacing the length of Harry’s body. Clearly the news have excited him a bit. “And are you doing it!”

“Why are you doing that thing you do where you make your questions sound like--”

“I’m not! Just answer me, Harry,” Louis whines. He sits back down, this time right on top of Harry’s tummy. Promptly, he’s got Harry’s hands massaging his thighs, but somehow he doesn't even register how good it feels.

“I don’t know, I was going to ask you first. Clearly you don’t think it’s that great of an idea,” Harry huffs. He’s pleased, though, has always found Louis to be particularly amusing when he tries to convince himself not to be upset over something silly. It’s cute. And definitely very hot.

“It’s not that I think you shouldn’t do it. It’s just that they’ve only picked you because of the way you look. Not that you’re not the best intern in that whole entire hospital, but I’m just not sure you should-- like, won’t it upset you when they film you every time you go change out of your scrubs? I know how you are, H.”

At Harry’s pout, Louis continues, just as stern. “And what if they make the hospital look bad, I’m not sure you’d want your face plastered all over that, would you? Just think about it.”

He couldn’t help but feel pleased at how reasonable his argument sounded. Especially considering the pressure building in his gut as Harry stroked along his hips.

“Okay, first of all, I wouldn’t say yes unless I knew exactly what I was getting myself into,” Harry said, ignoring Louis’ eye roll. His hands wandered round to the small of Louis’ back, fingers digging one by one into the dimples that formed beside his spine. “Secondly, we could use the extra money. Might be enough to take a small vacation, don’t you think?” He trailed down towards Louis’ bum now, stroking roughly through his sweats. He squeezed until he saw Louis’ lashes flutter prettily. “Wouldn’t it be nice to get some time at the beach?”

At that, Louis sighed. “Not really,” he mumbled grumpily. His eyes were fully shut now, and when Harry’s hands worked their way up around his waist again, he arched his back.

“I think it would,” Harry drawled, watching his slippery fingers hook into the waistband of Louis’ sweats. “I could swim, while you lay all spread out on the sand, soaking up the sun.” Deliberately, he lowered the pitch of his voice, so that along with his words a soft rumble uttered from his chest. Finally, his hands dug into Louis’ pants. “I’ve missed you all golden.”

“You’re not doing a reality show on national TV,” were the last words out of Louis mouth before he was lost to Harry’s mouth, fingers, the smell behind his ears. 

 

 

6.

Louis is sick, and Harry’s a little panicked.

“Drink this for me baby, c’mon,” he pleads. “Please? Just a sip.”

Louis scrunches his nose and turns the other way, the beginnings of the word "no", his favorite these days, rumbling in his throat.

“It’s just water. Just a little bit of water, _please_? For me?” Harry tries, pressing the tip of the straw to Louis’ bottom lip. It’s soft and cushiony, perfect for kissing, where according to any of Harry’s textbooks it should be dried up and pale.

He gives up when Louis, again, turns the other way, and shoves the cup at the bedside table so violently it falls over. “I swear, it’s like you just physically can’t make things easy for me. Like you’re doing it on purpose. A cold is just too boring for you, oh great Louis Tomlinson, isn’t it? You just can’t stand being bored, you go and get yourself pneumonia, huh?”

It maybe comes out a little more angry than he intended, because Louis lets out a hurt little sound.

Harry immediately feels guilty. “But I love that about you,” he assures him, cupping the boy’s face, stroking his cheek. “I swear, just not when you scare me like this.”

“‘M sorry,” Louis rasps out. It sounds painful, almost makes Harry cringe.

“You can make it up to me. Just have a sip,” he coaxes.

“Fine.”

Of course, the warmed water Harry had saved up was only doing good to the wooden surface of the table it was spilled over, so he had to rush to the kitchen, and thus trip three times on a single pair of sneakers (Louis’), for some more.

 

The next day, Harry calls off work.

He winds up in the hospital anyway.

 

“What happened?” Are Louis’ first words when he finally, _finally_ wakes up.

Harry takes too long to answer, only because he’s so relieved it takes away his breath. “ _Harry_.”

“I had to bring you to the hospital. I’m really sorry.” He sounds like a kicked puppy, which is the only reason Louis isn’t yelling at him.

“Ugh, why? I told you to just leave me, this _always_ happens, I can take care of myself.”

Louis has always, for as long as he can remember, hated hospitals. They terrify him. To him, one of the perks of having a med student boyfriend is having a personal doctor, to avoid having to leave the comfort of his own room for treatment. So of course waking up in a strange bed is like a punch to his gut.

“You weren’t listening to me, and you were having fever nightmares. I was scared,” he frowned.

Louis huffs, though he’s surely mellowing out. It’s not Harry’s fault he’s a sweet, pigeon-hearted old baby, Louis rationalizes. He pats the bedding by his hip till Harry gets the clue and climbs onto the bed beside him.

“Just make sure no one but you touches me,” he warns, smacking his lips, feeling content and fit for a nap curled around his boy.

At Harry’s heavy silence--“But I don’t work here,” Louis can hear him say--, Louis rolls his eyes. “Fine. Just as long as you stay right here next to me.”  


 

8.

Chloe is Harry and Louis’ 16 year old neighbor. She lives next door with her mother, Ciara, who will occasionally drop her off at their flat for some pseudo-babysitting.

Harry takes this job Very Seriously.

On one occasion, when Ciara was out of the country for the weekend, Harry caught Chloe fondling a plastic bag containing maybe a gram or two of weed on their kitchen table. She had been sleeping over, as per Ciara’s request, and probably thought Harry and Louis had gone to bed.

He’d been speechless. “What is that?” He’d sputtered, hands shaking.

“It’s weed. You wanna?” Was Chloe’s reply. She didn’t even look up from where her quick fingers had been working at rolling joints, though Harry could tell she was smiling in anticipation.

It took about four strides for Harry to reach Louis back in the bedroom. “Louis! I’ve just caught Chloe with weed! Marihuana! She smokes!” He’d shaken Louis roughly, urging him up from sleep.

“Just take it from her, babe. And come back to bed,” Louis had yawned, sounding distraught at being woken. “It’s so late,” he moaned, collapsing into the cold side of the pillow.

Harry scoffed. “Just take it from her?” He asked incredulously. “I already did!” He emphasized this by throwing the plastic baggie at Louis’ head. _Unnecessary_ , thought Louis. “Now how about you get up and help me deal with this?”

“Harry, she’s sixteen, for god’s sakes. She’s not a fucking baby, believe it or not. She’s not _your_ baby, either. We’ll tell Ciara about it and she’ll deal with it.” There was finality in his voice. He just wanted sleep.

Harry, however, was not having it.

“Oh, please, what good will Ciara do? You know as well as I do that telling her will only result in more hostility between them. It’s not what’s best for her, you know it!”

Louis, realizing this wasn’t going to be a brief conversation, sat up, rubbing the sleep from his bleary blue eyes. He noticed Harry was looking more distressed by the second, and that his hands were curled into tight fists, so he lowered the tone of his voice. “I know, Harry, but it’s not our place to discipline her. If you want we can talk to her about it tomorrow, alright?”

“ _No_ , not alright. Lou, we can’t let her do this to herself. She’s sixteen! What if she harms herself? What if it interferes with her studies? She wants to be a doctor too, you know?” He was starting to sound choked up, a bit.

Louis let out a long, tired sigh. “Is that what this is about?” He inquired.

“What are you even asking? Lou, she’s--”

But Louis interrupted. “Harry, I just think you’re getting too involved. And she’s a sweet girl, you know I love her like family. But she’s not--she’s not stable right now, with her mom all over her and everything else,” he said calmly, knowing from experience that one misplaced word about Chloe would set Harry off. “Last time we mentioned this to Ciara, she _asked_ us not to meddle. She _asked_ us, Harry. I know you think she was being unreasonable, but for all we know it could be the therapist’s instructions. We could do more harm than good getting in the way.”

By the time he’d spoken his mind, a sad frown took place on Harry’s face. He was silent for a moment, watching his hands fidget on their bedsheets.

“A therapist didn’t do Gemma any good. And Chloe hates hers, and from what she tells me he sounds like a total douche. Maybe, maybe this is a cry for help, like she wants us to see what she’s doing so we can help.”

Before Louis could reply, or scoot closer on the bed to wrap Harry up and hold him close, a third voice spoke up.

“It’s not that,” Chloe grumbled from the doorway. She stepped into the room, pigeon toed, looking embarrassed. When she raised her face, Louis noted her olive cheeks were blushed. “I just wanted to try it. I swear. Do things always have to have a second meaning?” She wondered aloud, earnestly, like she actually did want to understand. “Why can’t I just live my life without having to justify every little thing I do?”

Louis and Harry were stunned to into silence.

“I’m not depressed, I’m not--angry, I’m just… just me. Why is everyone always telling me that’s wrong?”

“It’s not--” Harry blurted out, but Chloe seemed relieved to be getting her words off her chest.

“I smoke weed because I wanna know what it’s like. And I sleep with boys because it’s fun and I like it. And I party because it makes me feel good. I’m not hurting anyone. I take care of myself, I study. Why is it so hard for people to understand?” She finished. She looked even more embarrassed now.

“Because you’re young,” Louis murmurs. He gestures for her to join them on the bed, and she does, sitting dejectedly on the corner furthest from Harry. “People expect you to make mistakes.”

Chloe sighs, reluctant.

“I love coming here,” she confesses. “It’s the one place I feel like I can just be myself. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have brought the weed at all.”

At this point, Harry seems to melt. “Chloe,” he gasps, reaching for her. He wraps her up in a tight embrace, and Louis smothers a snort when her face contorts in dislike. “You _can_ be yourself here. _Always_. I just worry about you. I look at you and I almost feel like you’re--”  
“Oh, lord.”

“--My little sister. We love you, okay? And if there’s ever anything you want to talk about, you can always come to us. Right, Lou?”

“Of course. And she knows that, don’t you Chlo?”

“Yes,” she whines, muffled into Harry’s chest. “Now let go, you’re choking me.”

Though it was already far too late for Louis, they’d stayed up that night, talking and sharing stories. Chloe didn’t get her weed back, and Ciara was informed, but Louis will never forget that night. For as long as he’d known Harry, he knew one day they would become parents together. But watching him with Chloe made the certainty of his future more real, or less distant. For days, weeks, months afterwards, he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

And when it had sufficiently eaten up his brain, when Harry was less busy with work, he decided to finally bring it up. Adoption.

  


9.

Honestly, after the week he’d had, with not one but two sleepless nights at the hospital and a five year old impossible to diagnose no matter how many dusty books he hefted out of shelves, no one could blame Harry for being a little cranky.

He almost literally steps right into the shower the moment he’s home on Friday, not even checking to see if Louis made it home before him. It’s close to eight o’clock, a reasonable hour by his friday night standards, and he’s already got that pleasant warm feeling in his chest at the thought of cuddling the night away with Louis. As he scrubs down his body with his organic loofah, he lets himself get carried away with thoughts of the perfect evening: netflix on TV, a large salad with beets and chickpeas (he’s been having cravings all week), Louis content and purr-y on his chest, dimmed lights, sweats and nothing else between their bodies...

“Oh, whoops,” he giggles to himself after spilling a bit of drool. Thank goodness Louis wasn’t there to see.

His mood only lightens when he heads towards the closet and finds Louis already there, standing in front of the mirror in tight jeans and a soft grey sweater. He looks edible, like he’s made of caramel and cinnamon and his eyes, glassy and warm, make Harry swoon.

“Hey,” he greets, unaware of just how deep and rumbly his voice is as it drags out of his throat. He sticks his arms out, letting the towel around his waist drop, eyes already closed in bliss, and waits for Louis to wrap around him.

But he’s left waiting.

“Can’t until you’re dry, mate, this is literally the only clean outfit I’ve got that fits,” Louis explains.

Harry pouts, arms dropping. Louis thinks of Doris’s homemade rag dolls with brown yarn for hair and could laugh for days. “Change out of it, then,” Harry says, before reaching down for the towel so he himself can put on some clothes.

“What do you mean? I’m about to leave, I’ve got Nick’s thing to get to. Remember? I told you about it.”

Just like that, all of Harry’s hopes and dreams crumble. He can envision them in his mind, shattering the same way a mighty ocean wave shatters against the tide, leaving him with a cold feeling down his throat.

“But we were gonna cuddle.” He doesn’t mean to say those words, nor for his face to reassemble into a massive pout. The sad puppy eyes might be the slightest bit intentional, however. He’s been with Louis for years now; he thinks he might know a thing or two about seduction when it comes to that boy.

Louis must have his head in the game, however, because he merely bats his eyelashes prettily and turns back to the mirror to fix his hair. “I’ll cuddle you when I get back. I can’t not go, Haz, and I did tell you.”

Stepping into a pair of sweats that feel unusually tight, Harry reevaluates. “Okay, but didn’t I also tell you how tonight might be the only night over the next two weeks-- _two_ , Lou--that I’ll have free to spend with you? And I have work tomorrow, Sunday too.”

Louis laughs, only it’s his slightly mocking laugh that he only uses when he thinks Harry’s being a wuss.

That can’t be called for, Harry thinks.

“No, you didn’t tell me how today is maybe the only day you’ll have free, possibly, until two weeks from now. _I_ , however, _did_ tell you I was going out.” He’s began fidgeting with his sweater around his stomach, standing in front of the mirror, so Harry reaches out, hands falling into place in the dip of Louis’ waist where they fit perfectly above his barely-there lovehandles.

“But  last week you went out on my day off, too,” Harry tries, still going for reasonable. He’s found the best way to win an argument with Louis is to remain level-headed, especially when Louis becomes too frustrated to not act like a child. “Please stay,” he pouts.

“That was a work thing, Harry,” Louis reminds exasperatedly, ignoring the request. He removes himself from Harry’s hold and steps into the bedroom, where he starts gathering his things.

“You’re really going?” Harry questioned, following Louis’ lead. “Even after I asked you not to?” He’s beginning to feel a bit annoyed now, to be honest. He would stay if it meant spending time with Louis. He can’t think of one time he’s ever said no to one of Louis’ requests.

“Are you serious, Harry?” Louis sputtered. “The longer it takes me to leave, the longer I’ll be away, you know. It’s only dinner and drinks, anyway. You’ll be fine, stop being such a baby.”

“I’m not being a baby. I just wanted to spend time with my boyfriend after not seeing him for an entire week.”

“Harry, we live together. We had breakfast together this morning.”

“You had a cup of coffee and then passed out on the couch for another, like, hour. You probably wouldn’t have even cared if I’d left without a kiss goodbye. This week, I didn’t come home for two days, or didn’t you notice?”

“Of course I did,” Louis scowls, now facing Harry from across their bed. Somehow this has turned into a confrontation type argument, and Harry begins feeling uneasy. Honestly, if he really thinks about it, the best way to win an argument with Louis is not starting one at all.

“Then you should know living together has nothing to do with it--” Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off.

“Maybe _I_ shouldn’t come home tonight, since you clearly need some time to stop acting like such an asshole!”

Harry’s heart recoils in a sudden burst of anger. “Oh, well I’m sure Nick will be thrilled to hear that!” He growls, deep down regretting each word as they leave his mouth, yet unable to do anything to stop them.

Louis is left speechless, which if you’re Louis means it takes a couple additional seconds to formulate a response. In those two seconds, Harry’s entire life flashes before his eyes. He still has time to wish he’d never opened his mouth at all back in the closet. “I was talking about sleeping over at Liam’s. Now I’m definitely going to do that.”

Harry is left gaping as he watches Louis furiously go grab a small duffel bag from their dresser and fill it up with a change of clothes and his green toothbrush. All the while, he mutters to himself. “Fucking asshole. Two hours for some fucking dinner. Really shows me where your mind is if you think it’s okay to bring up Nick, to make it like fucking Nick can just jump at me, like I’d fucking let him, you absolute prick. I’m not some piece of meat. God, I can’t even believe you.” He keeps his voice quiet, but just loud enough Harry will hear every inflection, every hiss.

“Okay, that wasn’t--you’re right,” Harry gulped. But Louis was already in the hall, retrieving his wallet and keys, acting like his mind had already moved on to more important matters. “You could’ve at least asked me to come with you, though. I spent the entire week looking forward to tonight. Would it kill you to act like you miss me at least a little?” He sputtered.

He was already alone in the flat, though, unsure of whether or not Louis had even heard.

He spent a few miserable minutes hating himself by the door, willing his eyes not to spill as he kept them focused on the spot where Louis had just stormed out. He thought he had the frustrated tears under control when he walked into the kitchen, but all was lost at the sight of the chickpea and beet salad waiting for him on the table. Next to it was a tiny yellow post it note with a smiley doodle and a simple, deformed heart.

The tension from the past week, the expectation and disappointment over an evening perfectly ruined, burst out of his body in the form of a stream of tears and a couple bodily sobs. For the second time that night, he was glad Louis wasn’t there to see.

 

**8:23 p.m**

**To: Louis**

I’m really sorry Lou.

I don’t even know what to say.

I’m just sorry, I’m so sorry, I was such a prick, and I’m so so so sorry.

Xxxxxxxxx

 

**8:39 p.m**

**To: Liam**

Hey, have you heard anything from Lou? Please it’s important!!!

 

**8:43 p.m**

**From: Liam**

Ohh yea he asked if it was alright he could spend the night? U sick?

 

**8:43 p.m**

**To: Liam**

No. Was an asshole

He hates me :(

 

**8:44 p.m**

**From: Liam**

Who was an asshole?? Did you guys fight :)

*:(

 

**8:44 p.m**

**To: Liam**

I was and yes he was going out tonite and i didn't want him to so i went all anthony m hall in edward scissorhands on him :(

He doesn't even wanna come home

 

**8:46 p.m**

**From: Liam**

?? who is that ?

Aww im sorry :(

 

**8:46 p.m**

**To: Liam**

Liam we’ve watched that movie like fifty times!!!!!

Idk what to do now he’s not answering my texts

 

**8:47 p.m**

**To: Louis**

Please at least answer to let me know you got there safe?

I’m sorry i was an asshole, Lou

Please?

 

**8:54 p.m**

**From: Liam**

Well you should give him some space

Haz u do know u dont get to tell him what he can or can't do or go right?????

 

**8:54 p.m**

**To: Liam**

OF course I know that!!!!!!!

Id never but its been 17 days and counting since we last spent time together!!

And its like he doesn't even care!!!!!!1

How AM I supposed to feel??????????? is he not as invested anymore?

 

**8:56 p.m**

**From: Liam**

He's just upset because of what u said and how u brought up nick

Calm down, u’ll talk about it and it’ll be fine

 

**8:57 p.m**

**To: Liam**

How's it going to be fine if he wont even come home?

I repulse him

 

**9:00 p.m**

**From: Liam**

He loves you, Haz dont worry

  


**9:13 p.m**

**Incoming call**

**From: Liam**

“Hey, did you call me? Sorry, I didn’t hear.”

“How’d you know I brought up Nick?”

“What? Oh, Louis called. He told me about the fight.”

“Oh. Did he sound mad?”

“No, just kind of sad.”

“That’s worse!”

“Are you crying?”

“No. Where was he calling from?”

“Didn’t ask, sounded loud. He’s on his way here now, though.”

“What? But he was supposed to have dinner with Nick.”

“He probably didn’t feel like it anymore.”

“Is that why he called?”

“Yeah, he wanted to know if it was too early to come over.”

“I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Harry, okay, listen. I think the only times you’re an idiot is when you expect people to know what you want from them without telling them. That doesn’t happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, like… remember that time you were mad at me because I didn’t realize that you inviting me over for movie night was actually code for spending quality time together without Dani but I brought Dani because I was obsessed with her at the time? Remember how upset you were?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, and remember how we talked about how it would’ve just been easier if you’d just told me you wanted to spend time alone together instead of assuming I knew that’s what you wanted?”

“Yeah..”

“Okay, so this is the same thing. So you need to tell Louis what you need from him and not just assume he’ll know.”

“But he always knows.”

“Not this time.”

“But why? He always knows what I want. Always. So what’s changed?”

“Oh, Haz, don’t be upset. Listen, everything’s gonna be fine. It’s not me you need to have this talk with, though. But believe me, you’ll work it out. Couples go through things. You’ve experienced in two hours what me and Soph used to go through for weeks on end. It’s normal. But you can’t get, like, scared that Louis isn’t in it anymore, you can’t stop trusting that he loves you, because that’ll just make you feel like crap. You’d be fooling yourself again, believing something you don’t even know is real. And I know it’s not.”

“Okay.”

“And Harry, you need to talk about what’s going on in your head. You get so grumpy sometimes and sometimes we don’t even know what’s going on until one second you’re back to normal and everything’s fine. You should really start sharing some more. It might make things easier. I know you and Louis don’t fight often, but if you did, these are the type of things you’d hear, I reckon.”

“So you’re my other boyfriend, the one I argue with?”

“Mate, you need it sometimes. Everyone does. Louis too.”

“Am I really so unbearable?”

“You’re not. You know how I can be really dim sometimes, and stubborn when I don’t wanna hear different opinions?”

“It’s infuriating, I hear.”

“Ha. So, me being stubborn is you being all whiney.”

“Whiney? Really?”

“That’s how I’d describe it. You act like a big baby who's used to getting their way. Spoiled.”

“That’s fair. I suppose. Thanks, Liam. I don’t feel so much like a piece of crap anymore.”

“That’s good. Go get some sleep, you sound exhausted.”

“I am. Thank you.”

“Love you, mate.”

“Love you back.”

**End Call.**

 

Harry stays in the living room for a while longer after ending his call with Liam.

His stomach calls out for the chickpea and beet salad left forgotten on the kitchen table, so he grabs it and a fork before going back to the couch. (The post-it note is already safe in his pocket.)

 

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. I was going crazy back there.”

“Oh…” Harry whispers. Just the sight of Louis, all ruffled hair and puffy face, has tears gathering in the corner of Harry’s eyes. “Louis, I’m so sorry. I ruined your whole night.”

Louis sighs, a long drawn out sigh that seems to go on for ages. Then, he speaks. “You creeped me out, you know. I thought you were about to lock me in the bedroom or something.” At the near panic in Harry’s eyes, he huffs out a laugh and corrects himself. “You know what I mean.”

“I just… _really_ wanted a night in.” Remembering what Liam had said, he added, “and I sort of assumed you would too after the week we’d had, so I thought if I just pushed enough you’d give in. I should’ve just told you and maybe then we could’ve sorted something out.” His cheeks were warm by the end of his little speech. He hated how helpless Louis’ mere presence could make him feel. Around him it felt like his words weren’t his own, like his body was left to its own devices to come up with proper sentences and explanations.

“I did want that. I always do, Harry. And you’re right, okay, I do have a hard time showing it, but it’s only because still, after all this years, I always want you to think of me as this strong, independent… person, who-- I just still don’t like showing you when I’m… vulnerable.”

“I don’t understand…”

Louis lets out a frustrated noise Harry can’t help but find cute. He loves it when Louis can’t find his words. It happens rarely, but when it does, he’s as unapologetic about it as he is with most everything in life that doesn’t go his way. Harry will never stop being endeared by Louis’ unwillingness to expect any less than exactly what he wants from the world.

“Like, okay. Tonight, with Nick. It wasn’t like Nick begged me to go out with him. That’s how I made it seem right?”

“Kind of,” Harry replies, unsure of where this is going. He has to fight against the urge to simply say what Louis wants to hear.

“Yes, so, it wasn’t like that. At all. It was me.” Suddenly, Louis can’t seem to tear his eyes from a nondescript spot in their rug. His hands are fidgeting, as well. Harry gulps.

“What do you mean?” He prompts.

“Ugh, okay. I begged Nick to go out with me tonight. I wanted it to become a weekly thing, sort of. Because.”

There’s a pause.

“Because…?” Harry prompts.

“God. Because you work a lot and I was beginning to feel lonely. And I started coming home earlier and earlier just so I could wait for you. And eventually it just made me realize that… you’re going places. You’re gonna become this amazing doctor, and save lives and you already have patients who adore you, and you deserve everything, Harry, you’re the best person I know. But me, I’m just… a year from now, I’ll probably still be at the diner, still waiting for callbacks that never come, still waiting for you on that stupid couch every night. And I hate that. That’s not me. That can’t be me. That can’t be the person you fell in love with, either.”

“Louis--”

But Louis doesn’t stop. It seems like he can’t stop. “I need to fill up my time somehow, I need my life to not just be you. I need to want other things, and need other things. And I especially need to not make you feel like I’m holding you back somehow. We’ve always been so equal, we’ve always had this equal pace, you know? But now, lately, I’ve just been feeling like you’re a thousand miles ahead and I’m scared you’ll reach me from behind before I ever catch up.”

Harry is speechless. Meanwhile, Louis just looks relieved, and a bit surprised at himself, too. “Louis, that’s--I had no idea--”

“I know,” Louis interjects. “Can we please not talk about this yet? Not tonight?”

Harry blinks. All he wants is to talk about it. To make sure Louis never doubts himself ever again, is never anything but happy and carefree. “If that’s what you want. If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Louis asserts. He reaches out for Harry’s hand. The contact has all the tension melting out of their bodies. Simultaneously, their eyes meet, and they smile bashfully, like they used to when they barely belonged to each other. “I’m sorry, too, Harry. I always meant to be back in an hour. Part of me likes it when you get all jealous and possessive. And angry. It makes you rugged and it’s kind of hot.”

“Really?” Harry giggles. It dies down quickly. “I probably took it too far tonight, though,” he mumbles.

“We’re all allowed to be selfish pricks sometimes,” Louis quips primly.

They sit on the couch, making themselves comfortable. Louis arranges Harry’s limbs just the way he likes; one arm around his shoulders, the other in between his own hands where he can trace the skin around Harry’s rings. When he goes to reach for the remote, Harry stops him.

“Louis,” he starts, sounding hesitant. It means he’ll take twice as long to make his point, so Louis settles in. “The thought of you not being happy… the thought that you’re even having those thoughts, thinking I’m ahead--”

“I know, Harry,” Louis interrupts.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it, okay, but, let me just say this.”

Louis blinks at his lap. He doesn’t want to look up at Harry, doesn’t want to meet his gaze.

“You’re always gonna be a man to me, and when I’m with you I’m always gonna feel like a boy who can’t even speak properly he’s so flustered. Because you’re so handsome and intelligent and perfect, and you still make me sweat when you look at me.”

A snort escapes Louis. That was not what he was expecting to hear, at all, yet it’s such a Harry thing to say. How has he not learned to expect the unexpected from Harry yet?

Harry continues. “I just want you to know… I’m always going to be that boy who tripped and broke his nose when he first laid eyes on you. I’m always gonna be the boy who choked on a brussel sprout on our first date because you moaned when you tasted the garlic bread. And I’m always gonna be the boy who couldn’t get it up the first time we tried to have sex because I was so nervous I wouldn’t turn you on and I didn’t wanna lose you. Even then, I knew I couldn’t lose the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Louis doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He ends up going for a hybrid of both. It’s glorious.  

“Now pick a movie.”

Harry knows Louis isn’t ready to talk. He also knows that as soon as he is ready, he’ll reach out. So he waits for his boyfriend to compose himself and feels a calm settle over himself as he remembers what Liam advised.

**Author's Note:**

> The end (for now).  
> I've written many more snippets like this, however, many are not edited.  
> If you have any prompts, leave them in the comments and maybe I'll write them!


End file.
